


My Ghivashel

by mandysimo13



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Happy Ending, Inspired by Music, M/M, SO FLUFFY, Singing, Song writing, Thilbo, alternative universe - no one dies everyone lives, bagginshield, courting, massive amounts of sap, mild pining, proposal, so sentimental, the fluffiest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 17:04:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15029186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandysimo13/pseuds/mandysimo13
Summary: Thorin's feelings for Bilbo have finally reached the point where he cannot contain them. He must tell the hobbit how he feels, damn the consequences. And he'll do it with a song.





	My Ghivashel

**Author's Note:**

> With all the shit going on in the world right now, the news has me bumming super hard. So I decided to write some fluff to cheer myself up. I'm taking the advice of "be the fic you want to see in the world" advice to heart and starting with me.

Thorin chewed on his thumb, staring down at the parchment spread out on his desk until the words bled together. Sighing deeply, he pushed back his chair and stood to stretch his stiff limbs, giving up on his project for the night.  _ It’s just a simple song. For my One. Whom I adore and could write novels on how amazing and important he is to me. Why is this so hard?!  _ he wailed internally. He had always been good at impromptu speeches on the battlefield. He had never had a problem maintaining a confident, strong voice in meetings of court. But when it came to matters of the heart....

 

That was a different matter entirely. 

 

While he knew the truth of his own feelings, he had never been great at expressing them. His siblings would always make fun of their “stone-faced brother” and his nephews would often call him a “grumpy geode” behind his back. He had wanted to shout from the top of his mountain his love for his One but every time he got close to letting the words  _ I love you, madtubirzul, you are the pulse of my heart and the sun in the sky, the loveliest of treasures, my sweetest ghivashel _ , something would always stop him.

 

Thorin often daydreamed of a crown of dishevelled, honey colored curls and wondering how they would feel between his calloused fingers. In the most inopportune times he would lose himself in a set of earthen eyes, shining with delight or disgruntlement. He still found himself in awe over the unexpected bravery of the unasked for fourteenth member of their company. Shame often welled up in him when he thought over the hurtful things he had said before, trying to protect his own heart while trying to convince the soft creature to go back to his life of leisure. Other times pride would surge in him; whenever memories of Thranduil’s dungeons sprang up or how he had rightfully put him in his place after the goblin tunnels, his One’s steady voice and quick wit made him smile. 

 

“Bilbo,” Thorin whispered to the otherwise empty room. He sighed, heart heavy with unspent emotion. 

 

Sometimes, he thought that the hobbit would return his affections. There were many a charged glances from across the table, gentle hands patting him fondly, smiles that seemed to want to speak volumes but remaining silent. Bilbo would also find little ways to brighten his day; books and manuscripts from Erebor’s expansive library mysteriously found their way to his desk, hobbit delicacies would appear on his trays during long days spent negotiating with their allies. Once, Thorin walked into his room to discover a small vase filled with rare flowers from the mountaintop. A small note attached read:

 

_ Found these on my walk today. _

_ Seems that Smaug’s traces are finally lifting.  _

 

Thorin, of course, would try to return the gestures with ones of his own. When he heard tale of a caravan heading their way from the Blue Mountains he made sure to procure a cask of Old Toby, knowing Bilbo’s distaste for their harsh mountain tobacco. He made sure that his One was never without parchment and ink, under the guise of helping Bilbo with his novel. The truth was, he never wanted to see him go without and it was an easy enough resource to procure. He had even shown Bilbo how to decipher some of the more common khuzdul words, despite the tradition of keeping it from outsiders.  

 

Despite it all, the fear of rejection, the presence of other people, and his own insecurity of being a good match all plagued him and stayed his hand. But no matter how he tried, his feelings would not quiet. They would not leave him be until finally they became intolerable and he was forced to get off his ass and start courting his One. 

 

He started with the courtship bead, crafting it with careful, loving hands from sturdy oak. The designs were a blend of the traditional geometric patterns favored by dwarves and delicate looking flowers that would be more familiar to those of Yvanna’s children. Then, once the grooves had been set, he inlaid them with delicate ribbons of shining mithril. Hobbits were not known for their appreciation of metals and stones as dwarves were, yet he knew that his One would recognize the importance of such a precious metal wrapped around the nub of wood. Both materials had lived in the ground and through outside intervention had come to embrace one another. When pressed together they represented Bilbo and himself. The oak symbolized his own title of Oakenshield and the acorn that Bilbo had carried for so long, ever since the halls of Beorn. The mithril was an obvious nod to dwarven crafts but also of the first gift Thorin gave his One, a shirt made of the precious metal meant to wrap around and protect the smaller creature. A gift with obvious intention from when Thorin’s thoughts were clouded with suspicion and dragon-greed but his need for the hobbit couldn’t be hidden.

 

Looking at the finished product, pride swelled through him as he inspected the bead. It had been many an age since he had crafted anything for a purpose other than war or hard labor. His eyes welled up with sudden tears and he realized that he had been afraid he had lost the skills necessary for such delicate work. He had kissed it before closing his fist around it and whispering a prayer to Mahal, desperately calling out to him and wishing that his One would accept him. After infusing the bead with his personal hopes and dreams, he placed it inside a velvet lined box and stuck it in his desk drawer for when he was ready. 

 

Next came the hardest but most important step: telling Bilbo about his feelings. 

 

Thorin agonized over just how to do it and dismissed several methods. He knew his hobbit would not relish a big, public to-do so making a decry from the throne was out. Nor would doing it in front of friends, for he would feel put on the spot. Possibly obligated, definitely uncomfortable. In private it would have to be. Over a lavish dinner was discarded; Thorin’s fear of possible surprised choking made that a non-possibility. Other dwarven practices like offering to braid another’s hair would be lost on him, not understanding the cultural significance. 

 

Which lead Thorin to writing him a song. 

 

Both their people held great joy and reverence in music. To them, music was a gift from Mahal and Yvanna and they sang and danced for all major events of life. Being a harpist and a fair singer, Thorin thought a song would finally give him an easy way to finally express his undying love in a medium that would be hard to reject. But when he sat down to write, he realized just how much he had underestimated the difficulty of the task at hand. 

 

He paced his room, going over all that he wished to say to him, his One. The themes that kept coming up in his mind were  _ I love you, I don’t deserve you, please don’t ever leave my side, I’m yours forever. _ Sentimental for sure, possibly pathetic, but genuine. And Thorin wanted to be genuine for Him. 

 

With a heavy heart he sat at his harp and stroked over a few strings, their soft hum grounding him. His fingers plucked absentmindedly and, slowly, they turned into a melody. He started humming, finding the notes that would convince his One of his desire and sincerity. Then, without self-conscious thought, he began to sing. 

 

_ “I wish I could do better by you cause it’s what you deserve,”  _ he began. He thought over their journey together and continued.  _ “You sacrificed so much of your life in order for this work.”  _ He thought of his heroic yet selfish endeavor that had put so many at risk and felt a stab of pain mingling with his pride.  _ “While I’m off chasing my own dreams, traipsing around the world, please know that I’m yours to keep, my ghivashel.” _

 

He opened his eyes, not remembering when he had closed them, and stood to race over to his desk to write the lyrics before they disappeared. From there the words came easy and he wrote out two more verses. He took the lyrics back to the harp, tuning it so it would be perfect before trying them out. 

 

The music came out hopeful, apologetic, and sentimental. Everything that he wanted in a song that would be fit to court his One.  

 

Once his song was finalized, Thorin locked himself in his rooms every evening in order to perfect the piece. His fingers stung from the constant plucking and his brain went foggy from lack of sleep but nothing would dissuade him from his efforts. A week of practice and Thorin was sure he could play the song in his sleep. All that was left to do was to play it for his One. 

 

It took Thorin two more days to gather his courage to invite Bilbo to his rooms. 

 

In the royal offices, Thorin waited as his advisors filed out. As ever, his One was the last to leave. He looked over his shoulder, smiling at him and waving a hand before trying to take his leave. 

 

“Bilbo,” he called, “wait a moment.”

 

“What’s on your mind, Thorin,” Bilbo asked. 

 

Thorin tried to calm the frantic beating of his heart and stuck his hands in his pockets to hide their sweating. “I was wondering if you would accompany me in my rooms this evening. After supper. Just us.”

 

Bilbo beamed at him. “Of course! Was there anything in particular you wished to discuss?”

 

“There is,” Thorin confirmed. “However, I think it had better wait until tonight.”

 

Bilbo’s eyebrows knit together in concern. “Is everything alright?”

 

“Perfectly,” Thorin assured. 

 

“Okay then,” Bilbo said, unconvinced. He took a step toward the doors and said, “after supper.”

 

Thorin inclined his head. “After supper.”

 

The evening meal was intolerable. All throughout, Bilbo kept stealing glances at him and Thorin would feel his face flush up. He hoped to all the Makers that his intention wasn’t glaringly obvious on his face. Rather than return them, he ducked his head, trying to hide it in a preoccupation with eating. When his plate was little over half finished, his nerves forced him to excuse himself. Before he left the table, he found Bilbo’s eyes and nodded once to confirm their plans were still in place then beat a hasty retreat. 

 

It didn’t take Thorin long to stride back to his rooms. He knew Bilbo would not be far behind so he rushed to his harp in order to tune it, twisting the knobs in order to coax the appropriate sounds from it. Once that was accomplished, he rushed to his bedchamber to try and fix himself up. There was no time to redo his braids but he did manage to get the worst of the tangles undone and change his tunic before he heard Bilbo’s voice calling for him. 

 

“Thorin? Are you here?”

 

“Here,” Thorin replied. “Be right out!” He took a deep breath, looking at himself in the mirror. Then, before he could lose his nerve, he reached into the drawer of his dresser to pull out the little box that held his courtship bead. Even though Bilbo waited, Thorin took a moment to open the box and inspect his work once more. Seeing no other way to stall, he snapped the lid closed and put it in pocket as he walked to greet his hobbit. 

 

“So, clearly there’s a bee in your bonnet, Thorin. What’s got you nervous?”

 

“Nervous? Who said I was nervous?”

 

Bilbo crossed his arms, smirking at him. “Oh, apologies. Clearly, you’re the epitome of unaffected calm.” He chuckled lightly and walked up to him. “Tell me nor don’t, Thorin. But know you can always talk to me.” He patted his arm before striding over to the chair across from Thorin’s spying the harp. The chair, in question, was an armchair that was at least a size and a half too big but watching Bilbo climb into it warmed Thorin’s heart. Bilbo pointed to the instrument and said, “am I getting a private concert?”

 

Thorin smiled shyly. “In a manner of speaking.” He took his own seat, pulling the tall harp between his legs. He took a steadying breath and said, “I wrote this one for you.”

 

Bilbo grinned, propping his chin on his fist as he settled into the chair. “Oh really, now? Is it some dwarven war epic, making much too big a deal about my involvement with the battle?” He brushed his hair out of his face absentmindedly and Thorin found himself thinking, not for the first time, how wonderfully his bead would compliment Bilbo’s coloring. His curls had grown long enough during their journey and the ongoing rebuild. Long enough to do a proper braid. Thorin clenched his fist to keep himself on the task at hand.

 

Thorin shook his head, smile refusing to budge. “Nothing quite so tacky.”

 

“Good.”

 

“It’s,” Thorin began but then found his voice unwilling to cooperate. Rather than give it away, give him a chance to walk out without having heard him out, Thorin just said, “just listen. Tell me what you think.”

 

“Alright. Play on, then,” Bilbo agreed, gesturing with a flick of his wrist. 

 

Thorin closed his eyes, breathing calmly as he centered himself. The chords appeared in his mind and then his fingers stirred to life. The beginning notes were gentle, slow, and a little playful. He so wanted to open his eyes and watch Bilbo take it in but he knew he would lose his resolve. So, instead, he began to sing. 

 

_ “I wish I could do better by you cause that’s what you deserve _

_ You sacrificed so much of your life in order for this to work _

_ While I’m off chasin’ my own dreams, traipsing around the world _

_ Please know that I’m yours to keep, my ghivashel _

 

_ When you cry a piece of my heart dies _

_ Knowin’ that I may have been the cause _

_ If you were to leave and fulfil someone else’s dreams _

_ I think I might totally be lost _

 

_ You don’t ask for no diamond rings _

_ No delicate string of pearls _

_ That’s why I wrote this song to sing _

_ My ghivasel _

 

He continued to play the bridge chords, letting the last of the slow notes hang in the air before opening his eyes. Bilbo stared back at him with barely restrained emotion. His eyes shiny, mouth open in surprise, but he didn’t look like he was about to rebuff Thorin so he began again. This time, the notes were faster and more hopeful.

 

A genuine smile stretched his lips as he sang once more the lyrics into which he had poured his heart. He let every unsaid word, every unvoiced desire bleed out through him into his fingers and his voice while he played for Bilbo. When the last note died, Thorin looked at him with an open, hopeful face. 

 

At length, Bilbo’s voice croaked. “Thorin, I- I had no idea. That you…” Thorin could feel his hopes fading. He let his head hang in embarrassment and he had already begun formulating a graceful retreat when he suddenly felt arms come around him to hold him close. “You wrote that for me?”

 

“I did.”

 

“That was a love song.”

 

“It was.”

 

Bilbo pulled back to look at him. “How long, you silly dwarf? How long?”

 

_ Honesty time, Thorin _ , he reminded himself. “I think,” he said softly, “since the very beginning. I did not wish to admit it but,” he paused, wanting to get it right, “I think since the moment I walked through your door you’ve wound yourself around my heart.” 

 

Bilbo ducked his head and chuckled, the sound wet and joyful. Thorin had seen the tears in his eyes and it nearly broke his heart. He pulled Bilbo’s face up from where it was buried in his chest and wiped away the wetness collecting around his lashes. 

 

“You dratted dwarf,” Bilbo bemoaned. “You couldn’t just tell me with words like a normal person? You had to be all dramatic and broody with that lovely song-”

 

“You liked it?” Thorin interrupted.

 

“Of course I liked it,” Bilbo told him incredulously. “How could you think I would think otherwise?”

 

Thorin shrugged, not wanting to break the mood by confessing his many insecurities. Instead, he reached into his pocket and presented it to Bilbo. He licked his lips, gathering his words before he spoke again. 

 

“In our culture, we don’t give rings. Instead, we offer beads to wear in our hair as a token of our commitment.” His smile returned as he opened the box, savoring the surprised gasp as Bilbo saw his bead for the first time. “We do a braid, as well. It lets others know with a glance that certain dwarves-”

 

“And hobbits, I imagine,” Bilbo interrupted with a giggle. 

 

“And hobbits,” Thorin continued, smiling fondly, “are spoken for.” 

 

“Is that right?” Thorin nodded and watched as Bilbo reached into the box to hold the bead between his fingers. Sitting in Thorin’s lap, he rolled the bead between his fingers, inspecting the delicate carvings and marveling at the glimmering mithril. After several moments of silence Bilbo finally said, “well then, I guess you’d better make it official. Will you braid it for me?”

 

Thorin’s smile threatened to overtake his face and split him open. He took Bilbo’s hand and said, “it would be my most honored pleasure.” 

 

Bilbo blushed. “Sentimental dwarf.”

 

Thorin carded his fingers through Bilbo’s hair to drag him close. He tilted their heads down to press their foreheads together, treasuring the feel of  having his One so close at last. “Only for you, my ghivashel.” 

Without seeming to have moved, their heads turned ever so slightly in order to press their lips against each other. Thorin released a sigh, heart soaring to finally have his love in his arms in the way he had been longing for. Their kiss was soft, unhurried, dripping with affection as their lips explored each other. 

 

Several minutes later they parted so that Thorin could place his braid and bead in Bilbo’s hair. Turned away from him, Bilbo sat still as Thorin parted the strands and began to weave the pattern that would mark him as Thorin’s to the rest of the world. After a moment he asked, “what about you?”

 

“Hmm? What about me?”

 

“What shall we give you? To let the masses know you’re ‘off the market’? I don’t exactly have a bead or a ring or anything like that. You caught me off guard most unfairly.” His voice grew slightly melancholic. “I never thought you’d...that you would…”

 

Thorin grinned, fingers still working. “We can discuss that in the morning. For now, just the braid will do.”

 

“Will you show me?” 

 

Thorin pressed a kiss to Bilbo’s crown of curls. “Of course, ghivashel.” He slid the bead into place and tied it off, taking a moment to pet and admire the braid he had just laid. 

 

“About that,” Bilbo said, humor back in his voice. “I can tell that’s a term of endearment. What’s it mean?”

 

Thorin blushed at being caught out with his overly affectionate pet name. He hugged Bilbo from behind and hid his flaming face in Bilbo’s shoulder. “It means ‘treasure of treasures’.”

 

Bilbo lifted one of his hands and kissed it. “Who would have ever thought you would be such a sap.”

 

Thorin chuckled, “who, indeed.”

 

Bilbo swiveled in his lap to face him once more. He held Thorin’s face in his hands and leaned in to kiss him once more. Then, just as Thorin had done, he pressed their foreheads together. They would figure out the rest come morning, Thorin was sure. But, for the moment, Thorin held his whole world in his arms and it was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Work inspired by the song The Girl by City and Colour (link to the song below)
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mS8xDo-qM8w


End file.
